


My stubborness might get me killed (But I'm going nowhere without a fight)

by arialist



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: 'cause Stiles has a Potty Mouth, Alive Allison Argent & Vernon Boyd & Erica Reyes, Alpha Derek Hale, Also Duke Nukem references, Alternate Universe - Everyone Lives/Nobody Dies, Angry Derek Hale, Angst with a Happy Ending, Break Up, Derek get control of your goddamn temper, Emissary Stiles Stilinski, Everyone is Part of the Pack, Explicit Language, Future Fic, Hurt Stiles, M/M, Mild Gore, Mythical Beings & Creatures, Mythology References, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Really terrible puns courtesy of Stiles Stilinski, Scott is a Good Friend, Spark Stiles Stilinski, Stubborn Stiles, these tags are a mess
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-04-27
Updated: 2018-04-27
Packaged: 2019-04-28 16:53:47
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,728
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14453661
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/arialist/pseuds/arialist
Summary: Derek's voice faltered for a moment, before he added, "That you'll stop."Cold ran down his spine, stopping his breath momentarily. Stiles could see the desperation in Derek's gaze, the way his fingers curled into his fists tightly, how he searched Stiles' gaze with his own. For a moment, Stiles allowed himself to imagine it. Without training and practice, his spark would settle, letting the magic that had sprung to life inside of him dim with disuse until, finally, it would disappear. Letting himself be human again, on the fringe of pack business; aiding with research like Danny but staying on the edges of the fights that came. Waiting, instead of acting. Hoping, instead of doing."I can't."





	My stubborness might get me killed (But I'm going nowhere without a fight)

**Author's Note:**

> Anon on Tumblr responded to my request for quick Sterek prompts with: Break up/Get back together
> 
> So of course, I went ahead and wrote 5k and am planning at least 5k more. Oops?
> 
> This is my first time writing any kind of fic in a LONG time (and yes, I chose to write Sterek in the year of our Lord 2018...), and my first time foraying at all into Teen Wolf fic, so....be gentle? OR don't, that's cool too.

It’s quiet. Too quiet. 

It’s the first thought that crosses Stiles’ mind as they wait, even though they’re all breathing heavily, ragged from the previous attack. 

 It’s not like any of them have gotten much sleep, what with this new threat to Beacon Hills having kept them on their toes for over two weeks, researching as dead animals began to turn up clawed to shreds and half-digested in what appeared to be massive owl pellets. Confusing, to say the least- then alarming when the next victim wasn’t a buck, but a young man who’d gone missing only days before. They’d attempted to hunt the creature to no avail, no scent trails to track on the forest floor, no sounds or sights or anything remotely suspicious as the pack took turns patrolling, hunting, and... _nothing_. Not until Stiles had spotted their answer in the bestiary after three nights of restless google searches and no sleep: _Strix_ _._  

Ancient Greek for giant, shape-shifting, man-eating owl-looking monster, Stiles had helpfully informed the pack.  

In the dim moonlight, Stiles can see the red glow of Scott’s gaze looking over at him, waiting for a signal. Stiles shakes his head, struggling to clear his mind and draw on the tendrils of power from the forest, inhaling deeply. _Let your senses guide you_ , Deaton’s voice reminds him gently. Easier fucking said than done, Stiles thinks, but Derek’s low growl nearby makes him tense and focus, reaching out with his magic. 

 _Behind you._  

Stiles barely has time to think as he ducks, massive talons barely brushing the top of his hair as the swoop of wings over him launches the pack into action. Boyd snarls somewhere nearby, and Stiles spins to see Erica staggering before dropping to the forest floor with a cry, clutching her bloody shoulder and hissing in pain. Instinct makes him want to run and help, but the sound of the Strix cutting fast through the air has him on the balls of his feet, turning quickly. They’re starting to get tired, and they haven’t been able to land a single hit on the damn thing. Frustration has him focusing, energy pooling through his body into a brilliant, swirling ball in his fist as Stiles’ eyes scan the treetops.    
   
“C’mon, Where are you-“ Stiles muttered as he stepped out into the clearing and away from the protection of the tree line, ignoring Derek hissing his name. From the research they’d done, the Strix felt a particular pull towards magic and witches, making Stiles the obvious if cliché choice for bait. Derek had vetoed it off the bat, and Scott hadn’t seemed too pleased either. They’d finally agreed it was the last choice, if the pack couldn’t bring it down alone, if things went bad. 

Scott's bearing an ugly claw mark across his face, Isaac and Boyd are nursing slow-mending broken bones, and even Derek had gotten clawed across the back.

Things were bad.  

“I’m right here, ugly. Come on.” Stiles said, louder this time, his voice taunting as he pulled a little more energy into his palm, knowing his eyes had probably started to glow. An ear-piercing shriek above their heads made him grin, anticipation and exhaustion and a whole lot of fucking-over-this-shit grounding him as Stiles kept his eyes pinned on the dark shadow turning, sweeping in his direction. The moon decides to shine a little brighter through the gaps of the trees, and it’s the clearest view they’ve gotten so far of the Strix, wingspan a good 7 feet alone and with yellow eyes as big as his fist. It’s strangely grotesque, features a mishmash of human and avian features, beak open in an ugly, murderous grin and revealing sharp teeth. Stiles bares his teeth back, on principle, and lets the ball grow and swirl in his palm, readying himself, _just a little closer_ -   
   
The Strix screeches in victory, then pain, because the talon it dug into Stiles’ side left it close enough for Stiles to shove the energy ball straight into its massive, feathered chest. He barely feels the rip of his flesh as they fall forward, the creature clawing out at him in agony as it burned from the inside out. Light-headed with pain, Stiles dimly registers a powerful grip under his armpits pulling him back and dragging him off, the rest of the pack leaping into action and finishing off the threat. A familiar scent of pine and cologne and something uniquely Derek made him grin dazedly, the blood loss making his vision hazy as he lifted his hand with a woozy thumbs up. “Told you it’d work.” He muttered, before the world went black.  

 

\--

 

It's always the damn beeping that wakes him up. Stiles has been in hospitals enough times to recognize the sound, eyes still closed but huffing in annoyance all the same. It doesn’t help that he detests them on principal, hates the clean, sterile smell he’ll always associate with pain, and loss, and death. Forcing the thoughts from his mind, he shifted, testing each area of his body until- ah, there it is. His side twinges sharply, robbing him slightly of breath, and Stiles open his eyes with a protesting groan. “Son of a bitch, ow.”  

   
It takes a second for the emptiness of the room to register. Stiles blinks, tries to sit up, quickly gives up the plan, and slumps back into the pillow with a frown, chewing on his lower lip. It’s daytime, clearly, and his mind starts supplying all kinds of good, perfectly understandable reasons as to why he’s alone, but it doesn’t make it sting less.  

The sound of a door makes him look up, and all the negative emotions building dissipate instantly. Derek looks exhausted, shadows under his eyes deep and hair sticking up in odd places. It still makes his heart pound somehow, and Stiles grins breathlessly, watching the tension leave Derek’s shoulders as the other man crosses the room instantly to pull him into a careful, desperate hug. 

“You’re awake.”   
   
Stiles hums and nods, smirking into Derek’s hair as he patted his shoulder gently. “Duh.” He said fondly, before pulling Derek up for a kiss. The older man huffed against his lips, kissing him with an aching tenderness that made Stiles shudder gently against him. Of the many perks of dating Derek Hale, kissing was definitely in the top 3. Possibly number two, even. Four months in and Derek still kissed him like he couldn’t quite believe he could, like Stiles was the proverbial cookie in the jar that he could steal again and again, without consequences. Obviously, Stiles wasn’t complaining.    
   
“How long have I been out?”    
   
Derek sighed against his lips, pulling back and frowning deeply. “Almost a week.” From the displeased furrow of his eyebrows and the deep frown, Stiles could tell Derek hadn’t quite forgiven him for offering yet again to be bait, and if that wasn’t enough the other man pulling away to flop into the seat across his bed said everything. Ouch. 

“But...we got it, right?”    
   
Silence was the answer. Well, silence and a pair of extremely judgmental eyebrows. Stiles winced at the expression, then winced again at the sharp reminder from his side that his usual flailing mannerisms were not welcome or appreciated at this time. Even his damn body was angry at him.    
   
“C’mon, Derek. We got it! I killed it! No more massive-Greek-murder-owl-man bringing up the Beacon Hills homicide rate!”   
   
“It was female, actually.”    
   
The unfamiliar voice made them both turn immediately, Derek’s aggressive snarl making Stiles look away from the stranger in surprise; they were in public after all, and Derek knew better than anyone how to control his instincts. Which meant-   
   
“Easy, wolf. I’m not here for you.” The stranger in question had a thick British accent, completely unruffled as he stepped into the room. He was tall, taller than Derek even, well into his forties with sandy blonde hair and a cheerful smirk, looking at them both with mild interest. Stiles’ own eyes furrowed suspiciously, searching deep within for the reservoir of power that fueled his magic. Hospitalized or not, Stiles was more than ready to fireball a motherfucker if necessary, especially if it came to protecting his Alpha. Beside him, Derek growled in warning as the stranger stepped forward once more, claws extending as he stood quickly. 

“Who are you?”  

“Easy, Easy,” the man said, lifting a hand placatingly. ““I just came to see how Emissary Stilinski was feeling. I’d use your first name, but I’m afraid that’s a whole mouthful I can’t quite manage.” He added, glancing over at Stiles with an apologetic smile. Stiles acknowledged the smile with an unimpressed snort, reaching out to lace his fingers with Derek as he looked defiantly at the stranger.    
   
“Just 'Stiles' is fine, thanks. Now who the fuck are you?”  

The man laughed, clearly caught off guard. “My apologies. I’m Abraham Chase Denford. The Third.” Smarmy, Stiles thought, taking in the clean cut, impeccable gray suit the other wore, the flash of an expensive watch under his sleeve appearing as he leaned forward to offer his hand with a blinding smile. “Call me Chase.”   
   
“How do you know my name?” Stiles’ thumb rubbed gently into Derek’s wrist, urging the other to calm down as Derek took another step forward immediately, the warning signs of a beta shift starting to appear. Chase merely smirked before dropping his hand, taking a step back with a chuckle.    
   
“Chris. Argent, that is." Derek's nostrils flared, but Chase seemed to pay it no mind, his tone of voice remaining light and airy. "I'd come to the states with the hope he could help me on my latest...search, but was informed by him of what happened in the forest before I could speak to him about it. Shame, really."   
   
"You were hunting it?" Derek grunted, clearly unimpressed.  

Chase glanced at him, raising an eyebrow but nodding slowly. "I was. I found her in Albania, tracked her along the Mediterranean before she headed west. I _had_ been hoping to trap her before she made such a mess, but-“ He sighed, shrugging with the faint, casual affection of someone who’d lost a favorite pair of socks in the wash. “She kept slipping from my fingers.”   
   
Stiles could feel the outrage tinging his neck and ears pink, biting back a groan as he sat up shakily. “You're shitting me, right?"   
   
“It murdered a person.” Derek interrupted, fury making his voice quiet, collected. He pulled his wrist from Stiles’ hands and ignored his warning hiss, taking another menacing step further as his eyes flashed and fangs threatened to drop. “It attacked our pack. It almost KILLED my m-“   
   
“Hey! Who let you in here?!”    
   
The three men turned in an instant, Derek’s shift retreating immediately as they stared down at the ferocious glare of one Melissa McCall. Stiles exhaled shakily, grinning broadly at her from his bed. Thank god for the most impressive of mom glares. Chase, slick bastard as he was, took the opportunity and immediately began backing away, palms raised diplomatically. 

“Pardon me, I should get going. I’ll see you both soon, I’m sure,“ He said smoothly, winking at them both. “Feel better, Stiles.“  

Stiles didn’t even bother acknowledging the retreating figure, arms outstretched instead for his stepmother as the door clicked close. Derek exhaled slowly beside him.  

“Mel. I could kiss you. 10 out of 10, impeccable timing. Seriously.”    
   
Melissa rolled her eyes good-naturedly in response, checking his equipment instead and adjusting his pillows carefully. Once she’d made sure Stiles was in order, she headed back out, stopping at the doorway. “Derek,” She said calmly, forcing Derek’s gaze away from where he’d been staring out the frosted window of the door. “Calm yourself.”  

Stiles frowned, watching Derek nod tersely as Melissa left, still rooted to the spot and shoulders tense.    
   
“Hey. Sourwolf.” Derek turned toward him, and Stiles pawed at the air in his direction with a smile, a clear request for the other man to come closer. Derek hesitated, before giving in and stepping back until he was by Stiles' side once more, letting Stiles take his hands in his own. Stiles smiled immediately, long fingers curling into Derek's thicker palm reassuringly. 

 “C’mon. We’re okay. Everything is fi-“ 

“Don’t say it’s fine.” Derek growled, pulling away like he’d been burned. Hurt immediately crossed Stiles’ features, a stony expression settling in its stead. 

“Don’t look at me like that, Stiles. You could have been killed. That _thing_ -“ 

“Strix.” Stiles interrupted. 

“Whatever.” Derek growled, eyes flashing. “It’s been murdering its way across Europe-“ 

“He didn’t actually say that.” Stiles knew he was being childish, but he also didn’t appreciate Derek’s tone, thank you very much, and Derek Hale had something coming to him if he thought he could scare Stiles into submission with a flash of his eyes.  

“I don’t- for fuck’s sakes, Stiles! This Stix thing has been all over Europe, _probably_ murdering its way across, and you just LAUNCH yourself at it and-“ 

“And KILLED it, Derek.” Stiles hissed, eyes blazing now. “ _I_ killed it. Not you, not Scott. ME. Or did you forget that part?”    
   
“IT ALMOST KILLED _YOU_.” Derek’s voice was a roar, the sound of metal groaning filling the air as his grip bent the edges of the hospital bed.    
   
For a moment, there was silence. Silence, and that same, slow, mechanical beeping. 

“I think you should go.” Stiles’ voice was steady, surprising them both. He hadn’t moved an inch nor looked away, eyes still locked on Derek’s as the other man’s fangs retracted, regret and shame filling his features immediately.  

“Stiles, I-“ 

“Go, Derek. Just...go.”    
   
Hours later, Stiles could still hear the ragged, wounded noise Derek had made before he’d turned and half-ran from the room.  

 

\--

 

“So you haven’t talked to him.” 

“Nope.” Stiles didn’t bother looking up, flipping to the next page idly. 

“Not even a text?”   
   
“Uh-uh.” 

“…It’s been two weeks.” 

“Yup.” The ‘p’ sound popped with emphasis, and Stiles continued ignoring him, humming under his breath. 

“Stiles.” 

“Mmm?”   
   
Scott sighed, pinching the bridge of his nose. Stiles on a mission was a handful. Stiles on a mission to hold a grudge? Total nightmare. 

“Dude, c’mon.”   
   
"I dunno what you want me to say, bro." Stiles’ voice was still airy, although he was glaring at their shared college algebra textbook with a look that could probably set the thing on fire. Literally. 

Tugging the expensive textbook from Stiles’ grip hurriedly at the thought and letting it drop to the floor, Scott flopped on the bed next to his best friend-now-stepbrother, nudging him with his shoulder. "Look. I know he was a dick. Derek’s always kind of a dick, y’know? He just wants to keep you safe." 

“I’m sick of him trying to keep me safe. I’m sick of him treating me like I’m this weak, defenseless damsel in distress he has to come and save with his martyr bullshit. I'm the _Emissary_ for the pack. My entire purpose is to _defend_ you guys when shit hits the fan. I haven’t been training for almost a year with Deaton so he can get pissed every time I do my _job_ , Scott.”    
   
Scott winced, eyebrows raising slightly. “Dude. Harsh.” Stiles glared in response, mouth in a slim, stubborn line and waiting for Scott to continue. Sitting up, Scott tried to gather his thoughts, chewing on the inside of his cheek in concentration. Big speeches weren’t really his thing, but for Stiles, he’d try. 

“I…okay. I get that. That’s fair – the job thing, anyway. But dude. Even with the magic, you can still get hurt. None of us want to see that. Derek definitely doesn’t want to see that.” Stiles frowned further, but seeing as he hadn’t interrupted yet, Scott pushed on ahead. “You and I _both_ know Derek’s been through a lot of shit. Lost a lot of people. People he lo-People he cared about.” Scott amended quickly, watching guilt flit across Stiles’ features. “I think he’s scared of losing you too.” 

Silence. Usually, from Stiles it was unusual; but in this case, Scott knew it was a pretty good thing. After a moment Stiles finally sighed, a stubborn crease between his eyebrows but obviously guilty as he mumbled. 

“…I’ve been a dick, haven’t I?”  

“Not as big as Derek.” Scott smirked, before his features screwed up in disgust at the tentative shit-eating grin Stiles sent his way. “Yeah. No. I don’t want to hear whatever you were just about to say about Derek’s-“   
   
“Thanks, Scotty.”   
   
Relief filled him, both at the hopeful look on Stiles’ face and in keeping any unnecessary images of Derek’s junk from his head (He’d heard _and_ smelled more than enough from the two of them, thanks). Scott nudged Stiles again with a grin.  

“Wanna move to the living room? I think you could use a good ass-whooping at COD now that that's all figured out.”   
   
“That’s what you _think_ , Scotty boy. What I _know_ is," Stiles took a deep breath, letting his voice go ridiculously low and mechanical. “It’s time to kick ass and chew bubblegum…and I’m all outta gum.”  

Scott groaned. “Seriously, Stiles? Duke Nukem?”   
   
His only response was a laugh as Stiles shoved him off the bed. “Don’t knock the Nuke!”

 

\--

 

Stiles ignored Scott’s advice to text Derek ahead of time before heading out to his place, parking Roscoe in the low-lit lot in front of his apartment. It’s nicer than the old loft, at least; after being flooded when they’d faced the Alpha pack, Derek had opted to sell the whole property to some developers. Stiles still passed the new strip mall on his way to work from time to time.    
   
Focus.    
   
Right. Stiles takes a deep breath, only just realizing he’d been gripping the steering wheel in his nerves. He looks up through the windshield towards Derek’s floor, exhaling at the sight of lamplight. Derek was home. It hadn’t occurred to him that he might not be, but that wasn’t the point anymore, was it? Pulling back, He caught a glance of himself in the rearview mirror before pointing at his reflection sternly. “You got this Stilinski. Get it together.” Reflection nodding an affirmative, he slapped his hands a couple of times on the steering wheel, stalling, before huffing under his breath and fumbling his way out of the car. Stiles ignored the sharp protest from his side, still bandaged but healing well, and shivered at the Autumn chill that had begun to settle, chasing away the warmer summer nights. Grumbling gently, Stiles pulled his threadbare hoodie closer, locking the door behind him and letting his feet guide him forward on the well-practiced route.   
   
“Evening, Ruf.” 

The nightguard, Rufus, barely gave him a passing glance as Stiles entered. Accustomed as he was to the young man's presence by now, his evening baseball re-run was far more interesting than Stiles. “Good talk.” Stiles muttered, pressing the elevator button for Derek’s floor and stepping in quickly- somehow, the building managed to be even colder than outside, and Stiles rubbed his hands together, hunched over slightly until the doors dinged open as he reached Derek's floor. “You got this. He’s home. No need to freak out. You just knock on the door, and when he opens you say-“   
   
“Stiles?”   
   
Oh, shit. Stiles cursed muscle memory and his brain’s ability to go on autopilot as Derek’s door opened slowly, the older man leaning against the doorframe with an uncomfortable frown and his arms crossed defensively. Despite the fight and the still-lingering resentment, Stiles drank in the sight of him – dark hair rumpled and wet from a recent shower, a faded green Henley he recognized from having stolen it on several sleepovers stretched across that broad chest he knew so well, a comfortable pair of sweatpants hanging low on his hips. Stiles licked his lips, looking up to find Derek’s eyebrows raised and staring at him, clearly waiting, although Stiles liked to think the look in his eyes was something closer to fond, if exasperated amusement.    
   
He hoped.   
   
“Hey. Uh. I didn’t- I mean. I figured you’d be home.”    
   
Derek nodded slowly, frowning as his eyes settled on Stiles’ side. “Should you be out of bed?”   
   
“Oh, yeah.” Stiles said breezily, tentatively stepping a little closer. Derek’s nostrils flared, scenting the air, and Stiles recognized the longing look in his eyes. “Mel said I’d be fine to walk around, just no heavy lifting or any kind of exercise.” Before Derek could point out he lived on the fourth floor, Stiles gestured over to the elevator, offering a small, cautious smile. “I took the elevator up. Could I…?” He trailed off, glancing past Derek into the low-lit space of his living room.  

“Yeah. Yeah, of course, come in. Sorry.” Derek muttered, pink flushing his cheeks as he stepped aside.    
   
It looked much the same as the last time he’d been here, if a little messier than expected. The apartment was spacious and utilitarian, the décor keeping to dark blues and grays and black woods. Derek was usually meticulous bordering on excessive when it came to keeping clean, but Stiles could see dirty dishes and mugs in the sink, books scattered over the coffee table and a dark patterned blanket half falling off the couch.    
   
“I wasn’t expecting anyone.” Derek said quickly from behind him, and Stiles could hear the hurt in Derek’s voice as the other man began tidying up quickly. _Wasn’t expecting you_. Instead of answering, Stiles bent over to pile the books together, a huff of pain making him pull up and smack straight into Derek.  

“Stiles, no. Just…sit.”    
   
“...Sorry.” Stiles sighed, taking a seat and feeling more than a little useless. It didn’t exactly help his argument if he couldn’t even bend over for a few books. Derek seemed to understand, abandoning his quest to clean and sitting on the opposite end of the couch. The silence stretched long, and awkward, and Stiles let his hands mess with a throw pillow nervously, his stomach was twisting up in nauseous knots; this was a mistake, he shouldn’t have come, clearly neither of them were ready to talk-   
   
“I’m…really happy you’re here.”    
   
Stiles looked up quickly, a slow, cautious smile appearing. “Yeah?”   
   
“Yeah. I’ve been asking Scott for updates, every day. I figured you’d didn’t want…” Derek trailed off, the words faltering. Stiles swallowed hard, shaking his head.    
   
“I did. I mean, I’m glad you asked him, but you could have asked me too. I wouldn’t have minded.”   
   
Derek laughed and looked away, the sound bitter and disbelieving. “Right.”   
   
“No, seriously. I was pissed off, yeah. But you’re my boyfriend. Fights happen.” Stiles shrugged. Derek looked up, gaze more than a little hopeful, and Stiles gave him the biggest smile he could, patting the space next to him on the couch. 

 “C’mere. Please? I hate this awkward distance and I _really_ -“    
   
Derek interrupted him with a kiss, tentative and sweet, one hand reaching up to cup his chin, thumb tracing over his cheek soft and slow. It was such a familiar gesture; one Stiles couldn’t believe he’d missed so much, even though it’d only been two weeks. He melted into the kiss, a happy sound cut off by a huff as his side gave a twinge and he twisted gently, trying to find a way to lean closer. Damn Strix. Derek sighed against his lips, and Stiles felt the pain dull. He knew if he’d bothered to look that Derek’s veins would be running black, draining his pain slowly as relief spread through him instead. As they broke for breath, Stiles grinned against him, pulling back. “Thanks.”   
   
Derek rolled his eyes and kissed the top of his head, gently pulling Stiles closer and rearranging them so he could rest more comfortably against him, seemingly content to just wrap him close. Stiles had long suspected a more possessive streak in Derek, and in moments like these, he didn’t mind as much.  

“I missed you.” 

“Yeah?” Stiles teased, curling closer into Derek and nuzzling in under his chin. The responding rumble from the werewolf made Stiles smirk, but before he could say anything else Derek growled gently by his ear. “I’m _not_ purring.” 

“Yup.” 

“I’m serious. I’m a wolf, wolves don’t purr.” 

“Such a purr-suasive argument.” 

Stiles could _feel_ those eyebrows judging him, but he kept the angelic smile on his face, eyes closed as he smiled happily and curled deeper into Derek’s chest. 

“You’re a dick.” 

“Really? I thought that was pretty meow-nificent.” 

Derek groaned, a sound that said all at once that he couldn’t believe he was tolerating this, and much less that he was dating the one putting him through said torture. Another sound Stiles was more than accustomed to hearing. Deciding he’d put Derek through enough, he peeked one eye open to look up at him, keeping his voice light.  

“I forgive you, by the way.” 

Derek stiffened.  

Stiles waited for a beat, before marching on, because this _was_ Derek, after all. Feelings and Derek went together about as well as toothpaste and orange juice.    
   
“For everything. Obviously the whole thing at the hospital was totally uncalled for, _but_ _,_ _“_ Shame crossed Derek’s features, and he nodded once, slowly, giving Stiles the go ahead. “I get that Mr. Chase McCreep was in there and I remember Scott losing his shit over Allison getting hurt at the beginning too, so. I forgive you.” 

“I’m sorry.” 

Stiles nodded, a wide relieved smile spreading. That was easier than he’d thought. 

"I'm sorry for how I acted at the Hospital. That was...unnecessary." Derek continued, his voice oddly serious. Not liking Derek's tone, Stiles pulled back, his eyebrows furrowed as he looked at the other man.  

"But?" Stiles voice wasn't trembling, he told himself, fingers curled into fists at his side defensively.  

"I'm not sorry for getting angry at you getting hurt."   
   
A beat of silence.    
   
"Derek." Stiles tried to keep his voice calm, keep his mind rational. "It's my _job_."   
   
"Your job is to help guide the pack. Not die for us."   
   
"Shit, I'm sorry, I missed the memo for the funeral. Or am I not here, breathing?" His voice was quickly turning acidic, frustration and disbelief fueling the sarcasm. Derek took a deep breath, his gaze hard as he stared at the other man. 

"I had to pull you off and pray that we could get you to the hospital in time. It-It nearly ripped out your intestines, Stiles, and _I_ had to call your father so he could leave work and speed to the hospital and do an emergency blood transfusion while we checked you in. You lost so much blood, Melissa wasn't-" Derek's voice was shaking, "She wasn't sure you'd make it." 

Stiles swallowed hard. It hurt seeing Derek in front of him, pale and shaking and clearly upset from just the memory. "I'm sorry." He whispered. 

"I don't- I don't want you to say you're sorry, Stiles." Derek half-laughed, the sound sharp and bitter and making him flinch. "I can't...I can't lose you. That night...I almost did."   
   
"I don't know what you want me to say." 

"Say you'll never do that again." Stiles swallowed at the rough tone, at the way Derek reached for his hands and gripped them, like he was afraid he'd lose Stiles just by letting go. "That you won't sacrifice yourself for us, that you won't go running out there like you have nothing to lose, like _we_ have nothing to lose." Derek's voice faltered for a moment, before he added, "That you'll stop."   
   
Cold ran down his spine, stopping his breath momentarily. Stiles could see the desperation in Derek's gaze, the way his fingers curled into his fists tightly, how he searched Stiles' gaze with his own. For a moment, Stiles allowed himself to imagine it. Without training and practice, his spark would settle, letting the magic that had sprung to life inside of him dim with disuse until, finally, it would disappear. Letting himself be human again, on the fringe of pack business; aiding with research like Danny but staying on the edges of the fights that came. Waiting, instead of acting. Hoping, instead of doing. 

"I can't." 

Slowly, Stiles pulled back completely, his back hitting the armrest of the couch, hands settling on his lap as he stared at Derek.  

"Stiles-" The sound of Derek's voice was agonizing, the hurt in his eyes like a knife to his heart.    
   
"No. I-" Stiles's fingers curled into his thighs, head shaking as Derek made a motion to move closer before the other man sat back into his corner of the couch, staring at him. "I can't...do that."   
   
"Stiles." 

"No, Derek. Listen to me." Derek exhaled slowly, eyes never leaving his own before he nodded once.  

"I..." Stiles took a deep breath, hands clenched at his side, forcing himself to not look away, to keep his head high. "I know you're scared. I get that. But I- I _can't_." He searched those stormy green eyes anxiously. "You know I can't do what you're asking me to do." 

"You can't...or you won't?" Stiles _hated_ that tone of voice, hated how he could literally see Derek closing off again, retreating into the cold shell he'd always kept around everyone. It hurt far worse than any shouted word, than any wound he'd suffered at the hands of the monster-of-the-week. For a second, Stiles wanted to take it all back, wanted to launch himself at Derek, side be damned, and kiss the other man until that raw, hurt look in his eyes disappeared, until that cold tone warmed and let him in once more.  

Stiles looked away, his voice dull with the weight of his decision. 

"Both."  

Derek stood without a word, the movement making Stiles look up cautiously. Instead of looking at him, the older man passed by him quickly, around the couch and down the dark hallway that Stiles knew led to his bedroom. 

"Derek, wait." Stiles could hear the desperation in his own voice, a soft hiss of pain exhaled through his nose as he stood shakily. The other man stopped moving, stilling at the doorway, and even in the dim lighting Stiles could see how Derek's hand had stopped mid-air, reaching for the doorknob. He prepared himself for venom; for Derek to snarl at him, for shouting and rage and arguments, the way they'd always clashed. His own anger rose, ready to respond; at being forced to make such a choice, at Derek even asking this of him in the first place, when his spark had become as integral to _him_ , Stiles, as the wolf was to Derek.  

 Instead, Derek's voice was deathly quiet, so low Stiles had to strain himself to hear him in the empty apartment.  

"Go home, Stiles." 

Stiles was frozen to the spot, staring even as Derek disappeared into his bedroom, the telltale click of a lock snapping him back to reality. Distantly, Stiles could feel the slow roll of warmth and wet down one of his cheeks, disbelief and regret and anger swirling inside of him as he slowly lifted his hand and wiped his cheek, still staring down the empty hall, before they settled on the clock Derek had hanging in the kitchen.   
   
Ten minutes. He'd only been there for ten minutes.    
   
A strange urge to laugh rose, bubbling in his chest as he inhaled sharply, feeling more than a little disoriented. Less than ten minutes before, they'd reconciled. Derek had held him close, had kissed him like he always did, like there was nothing more he could want but to kiss Stiles.  

Ten minutes. He swayed slightly, tears clouding his vision as he looked down slowly, barely registering how he was gripping the armrest of the couch in an attempt to stay steady. Stiles realized, suddenly, that he hadn't quite taken a breath, the tightness in his chest making the concept of breathing seem impossible. The hallway was dark. He had to go.  

Instead of turning to leave, the world spun and Stiles barely heard the thump of the floor as his legs crumpled beneath him, a sharp jerk-pull at his shoulder making him release the armrest immediately. The shock of pain made him gasp once, hard, the overwhelming rush of everything – panic and hurt and anger and pain, so much fucking pain- making his head spin as he tried to take a breath and realized he couldn't. 

 _Panic attack._  

 _"_ No, no, no..." Stiles whispered, reaching up to grip his head as he fought to take another shallow, gasping breath, head pounding and vision swimming black. He wasn't going to do this, not here. Not like this. Willing himself to focus on something, anything, his traitorous mind instead focused on the look in Derek's eyes when Stiles had first asked him to leave, the sound of his voice when he'd all but begged Stiles to give up everything, the feeling of his arms around him only minutes, less than _ten_ _fucking minutes_ , before- 

"Breathe with me, Stiles. Come on." 

The phantom sensation of Derek holding him became reality as Stiles came to slowly, taking ragged breaths in time with Derek's slow and steady ones. After a few minutes, his head had cleared, vision coming into focus, still half-kneeling on the floor by the couch. Derek stared at him, still holding him, and Stiles felt rage jump into his throat as he recognized the expression on Derek's face. 

 _Pity_. 

"Get off of me." He'd caught Derek by surprise as he shoved him off, Stiles scrambling back up to his feet as quickly as he could manage. He ignored the sharp, searing pain in his side at the movement, glaring instead at Derek whose eyes had narrowed at him, before the expression changed and the other man paled.  

"Stiles, I... You're bleeding." Derek moved to stand, but Stiles took a couple of steps back, teeth bared and tears in his eyes as he palmed behind him, trying to feel for the door.  

"Stay the _fuck_ away from me."  

Derek stared at him from the floor, stunned.  

His hands closed around something small and cold, shuddering in relief as he twisted it easily and stepped out, voice shaking as their eyes met for what felt like the last time. "Fuck you, Derek."  

**Author's Note:**

>  _/prances away singing “you neeeed a storm before you get the raaaaiiinbooow”_  
> 
> Or however that goes. ...sorry?


End file.
